Coffee Shops Are Dangerous
by Cresciela
Summary: A coffee shop was a place to drink coffee, not to check out hot guys. [SOKAI ONESHOT]


There was a certain coffee shop on the edge of campus that I went to every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before my horrid eight a.m. class. I might sound a bit crazy—considering I was a broke-as-fuck college student—but there's always a reason for my madness. The obvious reason was that the shop made seriously top-notch coffee. Why else would I go to a coffee shop besides getting super delicious coffee?

Oh yeah. There was definitely another reason why I went _every_ Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to this regular, totally not abnormal, café when I could've just made my own super bomb coffee at home. My bank account wouldn't be screaming in pain either every time I swiped it.

No, I would never ever let the chance go—the chance to see a very hot barista working behind the counter every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

This barista was hot—I mean _hot_ _, like the true definition of scorching_ _._ I was one of those silent admirers who was satisfied from just watching afar, unlike the others who actually tried to talk to him. I've watched girls embarrass themselves by trying to strike a conversation with the hot barista, whether it be after his shift or even during their order as they held up the line. As far as I know, every single attempt ended in failure when he simply gave them a small smile and made up some excuse to avoid talking too long.

I only appreciated his looks—I wasn't too crazy enough to actually hit him up.

Sitting in my usual corner that was never inhabited by anyone else because of the blinding sunlight that bled through the windows, I had a sideways view of the counter, which allowed me to see every little detail that occurred behind it.

I saw a lot of activity behind that counter. His ability to make quick, yet well-done, orders with his nimble dexterity had me mesmerized. The way he prepared every drink had some sort of sexy feel to it, even though that was probably the last image he wanted to create—he was working, for goodness sakes.

My routine was this: casually order my regular hot caramel macchiato, sit myself at my usual place, walk back over to the counter to retrieve my order when my name was called, and mutter a quick "thank you" to the hot barista before sitting myself back down. These were probably the only words we ever exchanged with each other: "thank you" and "you're welcome." He probably didn't even remember my face; tons of regular customers passed his eye every day. It wasn't as if my face was like a golden apple or anything.

It may sound boring, doing this every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but let me restate a very important fact.

This barista was so freaking hot.

He was so hot that more than eighty percent of the customers in the mornings of Monday, Wednesday, and Friday were girls. He had the face of a Greek god or something with that sexy tan of his. His spiky hair was the epitome of perfection despite the fact that it literally pointed in every direction, and the smile he gave to the customers whenever he handed them their drinks was nosebleed-worthy, I swear.

How long have I done this weekly routine of mine? Probably about half a year or so. My best buddy Selphie brought me to this place one day after she said it was her favorite. To this day, I still don't know if it was legit because of the coffee, or because she too found the barista a piece of smoking bacon. However, she didn't really commit to visiting this place every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday like I did.

I have way too much free time.

And so, for six months, I, Kairi Lockhart, had been admiring from afar this hot barista whose name I didn't even know. I would've taken a peek at his name tag, but he was one of those people who wore it low below their hip, as if preventing anyone from actually reading it.

He's smart. If girls ever found out his name…

Worse: if he ever found out that I was only there to admire him (I appreciated the coffee too, but coffee is just coffee), I probably wouldn't be over the embarrassment in a hundred years. Satisfied with just fangirling about him to Selphie every once and a while, I was content with just drinking my coffee and watching him.

So, when he suddenly came up to me one day, I nearly threw my whole stomach up.

"Were you the one who ordered the caramel macchiato?" I heard him say. However, I didn't look up from my phone when I messaged Selphie about my _productive_ observations for the morning. There was no way in heaven that the hot barista would come up specifically to _me_ for anyth—

My little train of thought was interrupted when I heard a fist knock lightly on my table to get my attention. Looking up, I nearly let out a yelp of surprise when I saw the one and only hot barista in front of me with his bag strapped over his shoulder. In his hand was a cup of whatever it was—I don't even know.

"Hello," I greeted calmly, but I was anything but calm. Looking at him up close and in the flesh was seriously hurting me inside because I never knew a guy could look so perfect. He offered a small smile as he wiggled the cup in his hand.

"Caramel macchiato?" I looked around on my desk and realized I hadn't retrieved it from the counter. No wonder I felt something was slightly off.

"Ah, yes."

"Yeah, we were calling your name from the counter, but no one came to pick it up." Oops. "But this is yours, right?" I nodded, a bit embarrassed as I took it out of his hands.

"Thank you," I said gratefully. Oh my God, I just made the hot barista deliver this me right at my table. Why didn't I hear my name earlier? Looking at my phone, I realized I was probably too busy fangirling to Selphie to even pay attention. "I'm sorry that you had to take it all the way over here."

The hot barista shook his head. "My shift's over, so I decided to deliver it to whoever ordered it as I made my way out the door." He then smiled, something that was too dazzling for me to handle. "Enjoy your drink, dear customer." I returned his smile and gave him a nod while he gave me a wave goodbye. Before I knew it, he had exited out the door, causing the bell above the door to ring once.

"Give me a full-on heart attack, why don't you," I muttered to myself before taking a sip of my macchiato. However, a sudden thought flashed by my mind.

How the hell did he know that I ordered the caramel macchiato?

I shrugged it off as I answered my own question. Probably just remembered my face briefly enough to deliver it. Nothing special.

The next week on a Friday, I finally learned his name; it was Sora Strife. No, I didn't lean my head over like a crazy girl and try to read his nametag. It was one of those rare days—unfortunate days for me—where he was the cashier instead of the barista. He stood far enough from the counter for me to get a quick glance at his hip.

Even his name sounded hot.

I stood in front of him as I prepared to make my order. However, I never got the chance to.

"Caramel macchiato?" was the first thing he said to me.

"Huh?" I let out dumbly before covering my mouth. Clearing my throat, I uttered a more _intelligent_ response. "Um, yes." How in the flipping ducks did he know my order?

He smiled a closed-mouth smile as he tapped a few things on the iPad before printing a receipt and sliding it over to the barista's area. "That'll be five munny."

I took out my purse and gave him the amount he said. When the tip of my fingers touched his, I almost stepped back in shock because of the static. He didn't seem to be fazed, however, as he casually took it and gave me my receipt. Deeply intrigued about the fact that he already knew what my order was, I sat back down in my seat. And then a light bulb lit above my head.

Maybe he noticed me every freaking Monday, Wednesday, and Friday?

I shook my head at the idea.

N'aw.

"Kairi!" called the barista. I quickly made my way over to get my order and thanked the barista with a smile. Making my way over to the usual spot, I looked at my name that was written by Sora. Holy mother of everything nice, he had really beautiful handwriting too. Call me insane, but I never wanted to keep a used coffee cup ever until this very moment.

And then it hit me.

How the hell did he know my name?

I remembered for a fact that I didn't tell him because he didn't ask for it when he took my order.

Instead of what a fangirl should've felt like, I felt a bit creeped out at this strange occurrence. I didn't want to think about it too much, so I settled with the thought that he just knew his customers very well to the point of knowing their order and their name.

Apparently.

I mean, I visited every morning on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, so it was logical enough. Then another thought hit me.

He probably knew that I came every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday by now.

Oh my fucking God.

The embarrassment had finally come.

 _Time to change my schedule._

And so, with no courage to face the hot barista, I limited myself to go only on Monday and Friday. I was pretty sad to scratch off Wednesday, but I didn't want him to think I was some weird stalker ogling at him all day. Getting rid of Wednesday probably didn't make a hell of a difference, but it made myself feel better about myself.

Since I actually had a life.

So now, every Monday and Friday, I visited the coffee shop to admire the hot barista at work once more. Although, God seemed to like giving me surprises every now and then. When I walked in the cafe, I was surprised to find a steaming hot cup of coffee at the place where I usually sat. Looking at it with scrutiny, I figured that it was a fresh cup.

Who forgot their perfectly nice drink on the table? I hoped that it wasn't poisoned.

"Hello."

I turned around to face one of the workers. I read his nametag. _Riku._

"That caramel macchiato is yours, if you were wondering," he explained.

I widened my eyes as I darted them between the drink and Riku. "May I ask why?"

He smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up. "I see you every Monday and Friday at this place—no, I'm not like spying on you or anything," he said the last part really quickly when he saw my face distort into a morbid expression. "I'm the main cashier too, if you didn't notice." Oops, I didn't notice because all my attention was for the hot barista. "So I hear your order all the time. It's on the house as a form of appreciation for your patronage!"

Wow, I'm lucky.

"Thank you," I replied with a big smile as I sat myself down.

I lowkey wished that it was Sora instead of Riku who got it for me, even though I highly contradicted myself with the whole I-don't-want-him-to-notice-me idea.

Oh, the difficult mind of a fangirl.

However, as the month passed by, another thought settled itself upon me: didn't I look like a complete loner coming to the shop by myself every single time? If Riku noticed me, then he must've noticed that I didn't bring anyone along with me. That was the last thing I wanted him to think.

What if he gossiped about me to Sora?

Again, it's all about the hot barista. All about the hot barista, guys—nothing else.

So I dragged my best male friend Roxas to come with me on my very productive mornings every Monday and Friday.

"Can't you bring Selphie, holy shit," he muttered as he laid the side of his cheek against a hand. He was one-hundred percent reluctant to come along with me, but I promised him that I would help him out with studies by lending him my notes. He couldn't possibly have passed up that offer.

"Selphie already had enough of my morning texts, so she instantly shot me down when I asked," I replied. There was no hint of shame in my voice.

"I don't want to listen to you fangirl about some hot barista. I don't think anyone does. Why not let him see you all alone, 'cause you truly are a loner."

I rolled my eyes at the blond. "Shut up." I left him to go order my drink. Waited by the waiting area in front of the counter, I was excited to see that usual smile Sora gave me whenever he handed me my drink.

"Kairi?"

I inwardly screamed inside as I heard him say my name. I went up and gave him a smile.

"Thank you."

"Your welcome," he said, and he quickly returned to making other drinks.

I was a bit irked at his lackluster response. He did smile at me, but it didn't seem as bright as it usually was. I casted the thought away; he was probably having a tiresome morning. Being so hot can be a drag sometimes, I guess.

Roxas didn't last too long. On the fourth week, he wimped out and handed me back my notebooks.

"My friends are starting to call me gay 'cause I'm observing a hot barista with you. Please spare me the trouble. _Please._ "

"But, Rox—"

"Don't 'but, Roxas' me. I'm out. I'm freaking out." He slammed the last notebook on the stack he had returned to me and headed out the exit, causing me to fake a pleading cry after him.

"Roxas, no!" When he showed no signs of returning, I clutched my head with my two hands. So much for plan don't-look-like-a-loner.

But even so, I continued my little observing spree because I just couldn't help myself. Every day, his good looks seemed to get even better. He was so hot—how many times did I call him hot already? Nothing out of the ordinary really happened after all that. Our plain thank you's and you're welcome's returned as I continued my peaceful Monday and Friday mornings and sat by the window where the sun leaked out on me. It would've been nice if things were like this forever.

And then I heard the devastating news that he was quitting his job for reason unknown.

All I knew was that my hot-barista-observing days were coming to a non-dramatic end.

On that Friday, I waited for my probably-last order of caramel macchiato that was going to be made by him. I sighed for the nth time. My Mondays and Fridays weren't going to be sparkly anymore. My eyes were probably never going to land on such a hot guy ever again.

Kairi Lockhart, etch his hot frame in your mind permanently; you may never get to see it ever again. This campus was big after all.

"Kairi?"

I slowly stood up from my seat as I trudged over to the counter and picked up my last cup of caramel macchiato made by this god.

"Thank you," I said, trying my best to mask the gloominess in my voice. Good bye, my hot barista. See you never again.

He smiled that usual bright smile that he always gave me and the other customers he served. "Your welcome."

Making my way over to the side-counter, I decided to add more sugar to my drink, even if it was already devastatingly sweet. I needed more sweetness on this depressing morning.

Hot barista sweetness.

Ha, I'm funny.

It didn't take me long to realize that there was something strange written on my cup as I added an insane amount of sugar. Perplexed, I twirled my cup around and held it up to my eyes to see what was scrawled messily on my cup that clearly didn't look like my name.

It was a phone number.

With a heart at the end of it.

 _The fuck?_

My eyes popped out of my sockets as I stared at the number, wondering if the depression was causing me to hallucinate. Instantly, I whipped my head to look back at Sora. There he stood, giving his order to another female customer with that attractive smile attached on his face. When he noticed my incredulous stare, he sexily smirked at me. He made the shape of a phone with his pinky and index finger and brought it up to his ear.

"Call me," he mouthed before winking at me.

 _Holy shit._

My mouth opened and closed pretty stupidly as I watched him continue his work. Completely flustered and caught off guard, I rushed out the door, not returning to my seat like I usually did. I was about to run away, but my rational mind told me not to. If I did, I probably would never see him again, nor have the courage to actually call him without knowing the reason why he even gave me his number in the first place.

When his final shift was over, I felt my heart beat lurch out of my chest as he exited the coffee shop. I was able to see his casual clothing without his apron on, God, his fashion sense was _on point_. He was so sexy, I wouldn't be surprised if my nose started to bleed. Looking around, he spotted me waiting by the side. His lips curved up to smile at me as he made his way over to me.

"Hello," he greeted playfully. I didn't return his greeting in the same manner.

"What is this?" I directly questioned as I held up the cup of coffee to his face, getting straight to the point. I couldn't believe that this hot barista actually gave me his number. What was I supposed to do with it? Hit him up? Just recycle the cup after I finished? I don't know.

"My number," he answered, cocking his head to the side curiously. He was so cute when he did that. "I thought you knew that already." He obviously knew what I was asking for, but he chose not to cooperate with me.

"I mean, this," I used my index finger to point between me and him, "What do you think you're doing?"

He shrugged. "Flirting?"

I gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

He looked me up and down—was he checking me out?—before catching his bottom lip between his teeth sexily and winking at me. I gulped nervously. I must've hit my head somewhere and ended up in some alternative reality 'cause there was no way on the face of the Earth that this extremely _sexy_ barista was hitting on me.

He made an "x" with his index finger and linked them, smirk never disappearing from his face. "You think I'm hot, I think you're cute. Therefore, I think it could work."

I blushed a crimson red at being exposed. "Whoever said that I thought you were ho—"

"Seeing the same face every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at the same spot with the same order at the same time for a whole six months is such a huge _coincidence_ , isn't it?"

I couldn't believe it. He caught me red-handed.

He laughed when he noticed my cheeks burning.

"What made you—"

"You ask too many questions, Kairi."

I squeaked when he took my hand and went in between the crack of the alleyway between the coffee shop and some other adjacent shop next to it. He turned me around and pushed my back against the wall, putting a hand dangerously low on my hip. His other hand used the wall for support as he loomed over me.

"W-what?" I stammered, very conscious about the space—rather, the lack of space—between us. His eyes glimmered in a mischievous manner as his thumb went up my shirt and started to trace the skin along the waistband of my jeans.

At that moment, I never wanted to jump a guy so bad.

"What do you want?" I repeated once more. I had to use my mouth to speak or else I would've started to use it for something else more… _fun._ As if reading my mind, he licked his lips tantalizingly before he answered.

"I want to know what your favorite time of the day is."

"Um, why?"

"So that I know when I can take you out for a meal. Morning at Squall's Pancake Paradise. Afternoon by the beach. Night at Gainsborough's Steakhouse. Which one sounds the most appetizing?"

I really tried not to lose it when his hand moved to trace irregular shapes on the small of my back. He smiled even bigger when I showed no signs of pushing his hand away.

This guy was so flirty and touchy.

Haha.

Just my type.

I grinned at him.

"My favorite time of the day is the nighttime. And it's not just because I like steak." I could see the obvious look of surprise on his face when I started to fix the crooked collar of his shirt. He shivered when I took a finger and traced it down the side of his neck. I then leaned forward to say it in his ear. "I like the nighttime because it's when I can get… _messy_."

"Oh, you can get messy all you want," he said breathlessly. "Anytime, anywhere."

"Anytime? Anywhere?" I repeated in a very sultry tone.

"Anytime," he repeated. "With me. Preferably on my bed. But I'm not picky."

I laughed before I pulled him in for a kiss.

~.~.~

"Sora, did you finally get the girl?" Riku asked as he took a swig of his drink. He grimaced when he noticed how drunk Sora got in such a short amount of time.

"Of course, I did," he grinned playfully as he took a sip out of his cup. "I'm Sora Strife. The one and only."

"What does that have to do with anything? Anyways, why that girl?"

Sora shrugged as he checked his phone when it vibrated.

"She's so cute," he confessed in a silly manner, eyes twinkling as he thought about the redhead. "She thought she was sneaky, checking me out and all. Tugged at my heartstrings. Always ordering the same thing while sitting at that sunlit corner. Didn't you see her? You saw her right? Isn't she cute?"

"I didn't come here to listen to your little rant about some girl. I heard enough of it when you were still working at the coffee shop. She probably thinks you're so cool. Wait until she realizes you're not."

Sora pouted at Riku. "What do you mean?"

"Dude, you looked so lame trying to be cool with your coffee-making skills. Every time she walked through that door, a sudden sexiness within your movement appeared out of nowhere. It creeped the living hell out of me." Riku began to list out all the embarrassing things Sora did to catch Kairi's attention. "I remember you tried to be all slick delivering her drink to her table."

"Hey!"

"Maybe I should tell her the next time I talk to her that she didn't hear her name _because her name wasn't called_."

Sora let out a groan at Riku's relentless roasting. "She never talked to me, so I had to talk to her first. It was the only way."

"And oh my fucking God, don't get me started on how you made me give her the free drink. I tried my best not to rat you out."

"Riku!"

"And I can't believe you got jealous over her friend. You're seriously something else, I swear."

"Riku," Sora drawled out Riku's name in a slight whining tone. "You're making me feel so embarrassed."

"I'm not done. The saddest thing I ever witnessed in my whole entire lifetime was when you wasted three cups trying to write your number on it without making a mistake. You think you're so cool, don't you? I nearly choked on my own damn tongue when you silently flirted with her over the counter. You have zero experience with girls—I wonder how you even managed to get her."

"Please, Riku, sto—she texted me!" His sentence was completely thrown out the window as he checked the loving text Kairi sent him. Riku merely sighed as he placed a hand on his forehead.

 _This guy is something else._


End file.
